


Give Me a Second Light

by viajeramyra



Series: The 4x08 Fix-It [1]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst with a happy ending cause I ain't cruel, Fix-It, Healing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: “What are you here for? You made it perfectly clear I had to move on.”“Martín,” he gulped, pressing on the tips of his toes as if to take a step forward, before simply rocking backwards instead. If he just reached his arm out, he could wrap his slim fingers in that dirty, off-white tank top and pull him into his arms. “I don’t need to be reminded of what I said.”“Then why are you here? Your brother’s plan was a success no? You have millions of euros now? What could you ever need me for?” The knot in his throat bobbled as he voiced his final question, his body shaking the most as the words poured freely. It was the only one he wanted an answer to, the one he deserved an answer to most.==Read at your own risk if you haven't see all of La Casa de Papel 4 yet. There are spoilers here.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín
Series: The 4x08 Fix-It [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897636
Comments: 36
Kudos: 439





	Give Me a Second Light

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so clearly fix-it fic was going to happen after the start to p4 episode 8. I am very happy with how it happened, and I still can't believe we are sitting on a canon, soulmates ship. I knew it was going to be beautifully tragic, because that's the unfortunate side of Berlin's fate being set in stone. But, it was definitely everything I could've ever hoped for. In my opinion, it was absolutely perfect. 
> 
> But, naturally I was always going to bring Andrés home from the Mint to face the consequences of his actions, as well as fix them. I really hope you all enjoy this fic and that it is in character. 
> 
> \--  
> Read at your own risk if you haven't see all of La Casa de Papel 4 yet. There are spoilers here.

He turned up the collar of his grey peacoat, hands stuffed into his pockets and head tilted low. His black beanie was pulled down just above his eyebrows, and felt completely ridiculous. This was certainly not up to his standard of dress, and as he walked quickly past one of the boutique windows he considered running in and exchanging the items for proper attire. But he knew better. He had to quickly get to his destination without being seen, and pray he would be granted access when he got there.

“ _Please, don’t leave me_.” 

The words haunted his every waking moment since they’d left those soft, plump lips he had been passionately kissing only moments before. They followed him in his dreams, they followed him with every bite of food he took, every drink of sweet wine and water. Sometimes, they were exactly as he had heard them, the same pleading desperate whisper matching the look in his friend’s eyes as he took one last fleeting look. His lips, which had been so focused only moments before, started to tremble as Andrés feet stumbled backwards.  
  
Other times, much like now, they were screaming at him. They echoed so loudly in his head, he was certain everyone in the whole of Europe would be able to hear them. He tugged down at the rim of the beanie, as if the cotton would be strong enough to block out his shame. Strong enough to block out his regret. Perhaps he deserved for those words to be the ones to betray him, to give him away to some passerby who would collect the reward and send him to prison for the rest of his life.  
  
A weaker man would be crushed by the weight of the memory which haunted him with every breath.  
  
A smarter man certainly wouldn’t be here, with rain landing in splashes on the small line of exposed skin his collar couldn’t cover, making a shudder rush down his spine as he walked down the cobbled streets. He supposed he had never been the smarter man, though. The role had gone to his brother, or to _him_. But, he had made a promise to himself just a few weeks prior and he intended to keep it. It was a selfish promise, fueled by problems he had created before he had last left Italy. Problems he wouldn’t have even needed to remedy if he had just swallowed his pride for a few moments longer, and completely given himself to the warm embrace he had dreamt about for years.

He looked at the ceiling, blinking back the tears pooling in his eyes. He saw flashes in his mind, little moments of passion and love. He supposed he had heard when you were about to die, your life was supposed to come back to you. He chuckled softly to himself, huffing his chest once as he shook his head. No, his life truly had never mattered enough for an entire play by play to come back to him. He certainly didn’t have the time right now for it either. But those lips curled up, the smile that revealed the gap between his top teeth on the left side, the small sparkle in those beautiful, sea blue eyes, the moments he had just known, were what came crashing down on him now.

He was certain he didn’t deserve to be thinking about _him_ in his final moments. Wasn’t it his fault they weren’t on speaking terms anymore? He had told him they needed distance to heal the wounds. Wounds he had inflicted, because he was a coward, he admitted to himself bitterly. He had been married, and he supposed a part of him truly didn’t want to betray Tatiana. He loved her, as much as he had loved any other woman before her. She shared his passion for life and art, followed him through dirty sewage trenches, and even stood by his side when they thought he had inherited his mother’s disease. But, much like every other marriage he’d had in the last eight years, he could never fully commit. Part of him was distant, and sooner or later each of his wives had picked up on the subtle clues they weren’t enough for him. 

“You’re leaving, I am staying here. It is too late for me,” he replied coldly, as he replaced the magazine in his gun. He refused to dwell on his thoughts any longer, when there was a task to be done. His gaze focused not on what refused to stop spinning inside his head, but the cold piece of machinery and the narrow walls of the hallway. 

Nairobi took a step forward, glaring sternly at him. “We will hold them off together. You’re not playing the hero, Berlin.” She looked him directly in the eye as she reached up to poke her rounded sharp fingernail in the center of his chest. Her right hand was firmly wrapped around the gun sitting on her waist. 

He titled his head back, laughing sarcastically at her attempt. She was brave, he would never deny it. She had more tenacity than anyone he had ever worked with before. But, he knew this was his price to pay. Sick or not, there was nothing out in the world for him anymore. He could die with a little dignity, ensuring his brother was able to escape and continue to live the remainder of his life, or he could try and escape with them and get them all caught in the process. Suarez would be right around the corner, an army of men travelling with him. Philosophy had taught him to value the life of the many, more than the life of the one. 

“Get her out here, Helsinki. That’s an order,” Berlin replied. 

As Helsinki’s arms wrapped tightly around Nairobi’s waist, Berlin felt the sharp sting from the speed with which Nairobi used to slap the palm of her hand right across his face. “You’re a bastard!” She shouted, struggling against Helsinki’s hold. Her hands moved to try and push his arms from around her waist, as her body twisted left and right desperately. “I hate you! I hate you!” She yelled again, able to lean her body just enough away from Helsinki’s chest to be screaming directly into Berlin’s face. 

In another life, he might have heard those words instead of, _“please, don’t leave me.”_

He looked up once again, sniffling only once as the tears pooled in his eyes once more. He bit the tip of his tongue, watching as Helsinki and Nairobi disappeared behind the vault door. If only she had the slightest idea of how much of a bastard he was. The look of pure terror Martín held in his eyes flashed through his memory once more. He continued to walk away anyway, his thoughts on the things Sergio said. He tried not to look directly at Martín, breathing heavily and still curled against the wall he had just ran away from. But, the glances he caught out of the corner of his eye made his heart pound inside his head. 

_You like me too much,_ he had said. His ability to turn down what he desired more than anything in the world didn’t last for more than a few moments. Until, he had somehow found the way to shut it down, as if it were a final farewell gift. The declarations enveloped the passion communicated with soft body movements, and wet dips of their tongue. 

Looking at the way Martín embodied a wounded puppy who had just been kicked to the ground, he completely stood by what he said. Martín was kind, and cared about him more deeply than anyone Andrés had ever known. The more tears flowed freely down his face, the more he wanted to close the distance between them once more. 

It would have been much easier if he hadn’t let Martín start kissing him. 

But the way his fingers had softly caressed down the side of his face, coming to rest on the pressure points on his neck, Andrés could think of nothing more than the warmth stirring inside of him. He had always been selfish, there was no denying it. So, when Martín’s hand had wrapped around the back of his head, he didn’t fight it as their faces drew closer to each other. He bowed his head, and closed the final inches between the two of them. They were devouring each other, almost like animals who had gone far too long without a successful hunt. His hands had gently brushed against Martín’s hips, tugging them closer. It was surprising to see just how well their bodies fit together, but perhaps not. He had chosen his words carefully, each one spoken to communicate the full depth of what went on inside his heart, more than just what resisted in his head. _“We are soulmates.”_

He prayed Martín would forgive him and find a real soulmate one day, if that was the sort of thing a person could have more than one of. He certainly never had, and the first tear slowly trailed down the side of his nose, landing softly on his hand as he realized he had doomed Martín to the same fate. 

He sank behind the barricade they had built. There was one clip already in place, and he was by himself. He wouldn’t have time to reload, but he had his machine gun wrapped around his chest, and two pistols sitting comfortably in the holsters attached to his suspenders. It would have to be enough time, no matter what. There was nothing he could do to try and give them more. 

With his back slumped against the wall, he took a deep breath. He had to focus now, he had to let go. 

Which would have been made so much easier if he hadn’t heard a _“please don’t go,”_ beckoning to him the way an overplayed top forties song would ring inside your head until you finally listened to it. “No,” he mumbled to himself, raising his weapon as the first black shield came into his line of vision. 

  
“Berlin!” A different voice called out to him now, somehow breaking through the foggy layers of thoughts in his brain. “Andrés, it’s time to go!” The voice was urgent, pleading the words for his brother to finally listen to him for once. 

“I’m a little busy right now, professor” he replied smugly, ensuring to focus his gun on the shields or at the guards feet. The pace of the bullets coming off the gun were enough to knock them back a few steps, but it would only take a few seconds until he had to move onto a less efficient weapon. 

“It’s time to go, Andrés,” Sergio growled through the panic evident in the way his voice shook when he pronounced his name. 

“There’s not enough time, Sergio,” he whispered quietly, as the words came floating back into his mind once more. _“Please, don’t leave me.”_

His face relaxed as his body began to shake, the image flashing through his mind once more. The plea was so quiet, he wasn’t certain he hadn’t simply read them from Martín’s body language. He gripped the wall, refusing to move as though he knew Andrés was a frightened deer, knowing he needed to run for his life before it was too late. But, there was nothing threatening about Martín. His shoulders were slumped, his knees knocking together as he barely found the strength to remain standing. He wasn’t going to do anything to force him to stay. His own body shook, just wishing Martín would turn red in the face, features tight and fists shaking. How it would appease so much of his own pain if Martín would get angry with him. He wanted to sink down to his knees, tightly wrap his arms around Martín’s lean legs, cry his own broken sobs and beg the love of his life to be angry with him. 

“Andrés, I’m telling you to get out. Get out,” his voice betrayed the tears he could not control falling from his face, but he knew it was still the rage Sergio was unequipped to deal with. The weight of the situation had yet to set in on his younger brother just yet. He was unwilling to accept the reality, still feeling as if he could get the words just right to make him give up on his suicide mission. 

But, he didn’t deserve to meet any fate but this. The moment the boat disappeared into international waters, the gang preparing to move onto their separate ways, any future he could ever want was gone with them. Perhaps, if he hadn’t been discovered he could make his way to the small island off the coast of Italy. He could knock on that blasted, chipped wooden door and beg for the forgiveness he deserved to never receive. 

“I want my share of the money to go to Martín,” he mumbled, his vision blurred from the tears he could no longer contain. His hands were unsteady on the handles of the gun, threatening to let go and surrender already. Not yet. He couldn’t do that yet. “Helsinki, blow the tunnel.” 

“No!” He heard Sergio’s labored breathing, the words barely recognizable. He could almost imagine his younger brother with the detonator, clenched tightly in his palm. “If you run, there’s still time. Andrés, Andrés, _por favor._ Run.” 

He felt the final bullet release, and slammed his back hard against the wall once more. He would only have a few moments before they started to make their frontal attack against him. A grenade, he imagined, as they had no way of knowing if he was alone and unable to reload the gun. His fingers wrapped around the barrel of the gun wrapped around his neck, preparing himself to come out shooting once more. 

He nimbly moved, ducking for cover behind the vault door. His was certain his heart was pounding in beats to the words that had slowly dripped, syllable by syllable, from Martín’s tongue. 

_“Please, don’t leave me.”_

_“Please, don’t leave me.”_

_“Please, don’t leave me.”_

He had turned quickly on his heel, pretending they were simply a figment of his imagination as he walked down the long hallway. He continued to pretend they were not real, figments of his demented mind playing tricks on him, as he had slammed the door of his awaiting taxi. He told himself he was simply being punished for stringing Martín along for so long, as he tried to focus on his meal with Tatiana. 

And when he had finally tried to take his young bride to bed, they washed over him in a wave of darkness. It threatened to cripple him, to render him completely useless in a way he had not expected. His fist had violently flung into the wall above their head board, bone cracking through the skin from the pressure. By morning, Tatiana was gone and he was alone once more. 

His hands desperately clawed at the thin gun strap hanging around his body, throwing the extra weight to the ground as he quickly made his way to the entrance of the tunnel. The rush of wind he created from his pace enveloped him, each movement of his foot barely touching the whole of the ground before it was up once more. His arms rotated his body, moving with him as he ran. He would never run again after this, he was certain. He could feel his chest threatening to pop open, his heart and lungs having cracked through at the pressure. But, as his hands coiled around the metal steps, he took them two at a time. 

“Blow the tunnel!” He shouted as he fell forward onto the ground in Sergio’s hideout. His palms flattened against his chest, trying desperately to provide himself the energy needed. There was a buzzing in the room, and he could see Sergio standing over him, now purple in the face. He snapped his fingers, and the next thing Andrés knew, Helsinki’s arms were supporting his body weight as he carried him out of the room. 

He felt as if his legs were trenching through sinking sand with each step that brought him closer to the house he had always felt was more of a shack. Martín had always been so fond of the little place, insisting once they had all the gold from the Bank of Spain he would pour his share into bringing it up to code. He talked of beautiful, grand plans to turn the bedroom into two, give them their own space. How he wished he’d argued harder against the idea now. There would be a grand piano in the middle of the living room, and a glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling above it. The kitchen would be vastly improved, with polished granite counters and storage space for anything they could ever hoped for. It was all very impractical, but intune to each and everyone of Andrés’ unspoken wishes. 

Things were always that way between them. Martín always knew exactly what he needed, in lining them up perfectly with what he wanted. He wished he had taken more time to accept the expanding hole inside of him could never be filled by material items. He’d tried to hold on to the valuable diamonds, the best watches, the finest suits to keep him happy. 

The hole inside of him had only been filled for the sixty seconds he had Martín’s back pressed against the wall, their hands mirrors of each other as they cupped their hands around the back of each other’s head, their fingers strong as they pulled each other closer while their thumbs gently stroked the skin in front of the other’s ear. 

It had split open irrevocably when he had pulled away. 

He came to a full halt as he turned the final corner, the brown door staring back at him from the other end of the road. His hands grasped for the corner of the brick building next to him, his face flushed from how rapid his breaths were moving. His eyes remained open wide, unable to walk away but lacking any strength to move forward. 

“I’m going back to Italy,” he said, standing firm like a tree behind Sergio. 

His brother was focused on the open sea and his nautical instruments, each mile taking them closer and closer to freedom. His arms fell to his side, knuckles white around the small ball he was holding. His shoulders raised in time with his posture fixing even taller, dropping with the breath he had just inhaled. 

“We’re going to the Philippines.” He continued to stare straight ahead, his other hand wrapping around the railing on the boat. “It was your request,” he added sharply. 

“You will still go to the Philippines. I am going back to Italy,” he repeated. 

This time, Sergio turned around on his heel, eyes narrowed. His hand released from around the railing, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he pinched the skin just below the nosepiece. “This is not up for discussion, Andrés. You broke direct orders at the Mint. You almost,” he trailed off, his eyes softening as the unspoken word hung between them. 

“Died?” He supplied, as he moved to stand closer to his little brother. His hand reached out, holding the nape of Sergio’s neck gently. “I did almost die, and I apologize for whatever turmoil it caused you. I know it must not have been easy for me to say I wasn’t actually ill, to only almost lose me then. But, I am going to Italy. There is nothing you can say to change my mind.” 

“How do you plan to get there, Andrés? Do you think I would equip you with the ability to potentially doom us all?” 

He shrugged, smiling brightly back at his little brother. “It will be quite the adventure. Another daring task, followed so closely after the best heist of my career.” 

_“Please, don’t leave me.”_

His stomach twisted into a knot, and he debated moving so he could lean over the side of the ship. His smile was no longer present, the heavy sadness flashing in his eyes but unmissed by Sergio. 

“You cannot seriously still be considering another heist. You need to be satisfied with your work. Embrace retirement,” he scolded, his features twisted tighter. 

Andrés dropped his hand, as both his hands retracted naturally to his sides. He wasn’t going to stop his foot and shout angrily back at his little brother. This ran deeper than a temper tantrum. The vein in his forehead twitched, pulsating as his fingernails began to break the skin of his palms from the tightening of his fists. His nose creased, his lips thin. His tongue moved in his mouth, mimicking the movement of a snake as he hissed, “I made a mistake I do not expect you to understand. You will not stop me this time. I have fulfilled my duties to you, hermano.” 

Sergio huffed, his own anger rising to meet his brother’s. “You are going to risk everything, every single person on this ship, just to stroke your own ego. There will be plenty of women--” 

Andrés took a step forward, his expression flat while his eyes had completely darkened to match the night sky. His face was only inches away from Sergio’s now, his brother’s back arched against the railing, as his hands reached out wide to maintain any sense of balance. “My duties to you are over, Sergio. I love you, please understand and never forget it. But my mind is made up, even if I have to swim all the way there.” 

He turned on his heel without another word, taking his leave to the small room below deck. He sunk onto the hard bed, elbows propped on his knees as he fell forward into his hands. 

And now, here he was no more than one hundred feet away, unable to move all the same. He didn’t deserve to be there. He shouldn’t be there. Certainly, he should have been forced to live with the damage he had caused. He was there for his own purposes. He wanted the voice in his head to go away, and he was willing to reopen old wounds to get there. 

His chest still heaving, he turned to walk away. 

  
_“Please, don’t leave me.”_

_“Please, don’t leave me.”_

_“Please don’t leave me.”_

One foot after the other slowly moved towards the door. He was certain at this rate, the sun would start to break through, replacing the moonlight. He inched forward all the same, trying to find his natural confidence. He had righted other wrongs, paid for other sins. But this one carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He felt like he was sinking under crushing waves, being pulled further and further down into something cold and heavy. He wrapped his arms around himself, certain he had never humbled himself this way. 

Why couldn’t he have just brought himself to stay in the first place? How much easier this would have all been if he could have embraced the warmest ray of sunshine in his life. 

He finally reached the door, and fell forward softly against it. His fingers gently stroked the knob, his thumb running down the keyhole. At one time, he would’ve been able to throw the door open and step inside. He had been welcomed without an invitation, his sense of belonging circling around the man who was on the other side of the door. There was a dull ache in his chest as his forehead rested on the door. “Let me in,” he whispered. 

The tops of his fingers folded over gently, most of his palm still exposed so the knock on the door would not alarm any occupants. He knocked in the middle of the door twice, before he stumbled backwards. His eyes fixated on his shoes, hands in his pant pockets. His left foot hooked behind his right, uncertain and unsteady. 

As the door slowly started to open, he heard soft notes coming from the other side. 

_‘Since you burned me at the stake, all of my feelings went away. There's no feelings in my way, at least there's no feelings in my way.’_

The lyrics were the only words coming from the other side of the door. He slowly moved his line of sight up from Martín’s feet sticking out from the bottom of his black silk pajama bottoms. Martín stood in front of him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He had crusted pieces of food on his white tank top and a wine red robe hanging open but wrapped around him, one Andrés recognized all too well. Martín’s stomach had flattened in a way he wasn’t used to. His sharp facial features were missing, wrinkled skin weighed down by the emotional pain Andrés had caused. His face was covered in uneven stubble, thick bags under his eyes. The beautiful blues he was accustomed to were almost grey. 

“Andrés,” he whispered, stumbling backwards into the house. His already light skin flushed completely pale, body shaking as the cold wind from outside circled around his body.

“Martín,” he whispered, shoving his hand further into his pocket as he fought the urge to bring his hand to cup his former friend’s face. “I need to come in,” he added, sheepishly. His stronghold armor of confidence had completely melted away. If he was going to stand a chance for redemption, he needed to be prepared to be vulnerable. But oh, how he hated it. 

Martín nodded simply in return, stepping further into the house. Andrés followed him inside, care not to step too close as he closed the door behind him. Martín’s lips were quivering, beginning to turn a soft shade of blue as he kept them held tightly together. Andrés had to look away, unable to stomach the agony overtaking him. He had caused this. This was his fault. It nawed away at him, threatening to leave a shell of a man in its wake.

Just as there was a shell of a man in front of him now. 

He glanced around the house, covered in cobwebs and layers of thick dusk. The table had scattered papers and an army of half empty bottles of cheap alcohol. 

_‘And I know this. I can't read it right, between the fights. I still need you.’_

The song seemed to confirm what he already knew. The man before him was no longer the man he considered his soulmate. This man was timid, completely destroyed. He stood frozen, the pale light from the bedroom pouring into the living room. It wasn’t much, but it lightened the shadows around Martín enough to see the tears soaking his face. 

“What are you here for? You made it perfectly clear I had to move on.” 

“Martín,” he gulped, pressing on the tips of his toes as if to take a step forward, before simply rocking backwards instead. If he just reached his arm out, he could wrap his slim fingers in that dirty, off-white tank top and pull him into his arms. “I don’t need to be reminded of what I said.” 

“Then why are you here? Your brother’s plan was a success no? You have millions of euros now? What could you ever need me for?” The knot in his throat bobbled as he voiced his final question, his body shaking the most as the words poured freely. It was the only one he wanted an answer to, the one he deserved an answer to most. 

“I almost died in the Mint,” he finally replied after a moment’s pause. He was looking down at his hands, intertwined in front of him. He heard Martín inhale sharply, a light sob accompanied with it. If Andrés were in his place, he imagined he would be overjoyed the asshole who had broken him beyond repair had brushed Death’s hand. He would threaten to finish the job, as easily as blinking. But, the words seemed to crush Martín even further. 

“I wanted to die in the Mint,” he continued, as he started to walk in a small circle in front of Martín. His hands reached up to pull through his hair, his behavior slipping quickly to be neurotic. He forced himself to come to a stop once more, still tapping from one foot to the other. 

“You should only have a few weeks left, what difference does it make?” Martín spat back, the words filled with a bitter venom that wasn’t intended to strike down Andrés. Somehow, the bitterness was still directed at cruel irony, instead of the cruel man who had claimed to love him only months ago. 

“They were wrong,” he whispered, raising his thumb up to his lips. He bit down on the skin, nervously as he finally looked at Martín once more. “Though I wish they hadn’t been.” 

“If you came here for _my_ pity,” Martín said through gritted teeth, “you best walk back through the door.” 

“I was wrong.” 

Martín chuckled, harshly. His tone didn’t reach his eyes, which still looked like tiny pieces of shattered glass. If anything, the grey tint had only gotten darker since Andrés had arrived. His hand reached out, before quickly wrapping around his own shirt instead. His fingers tapped his stomach, wishing more than anything he could take back every single word. Wishing more than anything, the pain that has completely crushed Martín was his burden alone to bear. 

“It’s a little late for that, no?” 

Andrés tried his best to plaster the fake smile across his face as he looked back at Martín. He admired the strength he had to continue to push him away. He should be doing as much, even if he wished it wasn’t the case. He had brought this on himself. He had made his choice in Florence, and it had torn them both into tiny pieces. They had each taken pieces of the other with them when they said goodbye. But, while Andrés had set his pieces of Martín to dark, blue flames, Martín carried his pieces of Andrés around in bright red embers. 

“Yes,” he admitted, forcing himself to take a step closer to Martín. When he didn’t shrink away, Andrés slowly took each of his hands out of his pockets. “Of course it is too late,” he whispered, as his hands came to hold Martín’s face in them softly. “How could I have done this to you,” his broken voice whispered. He should run out of the room, far away from Sicily as fast as he could. But, his own narcissism kept him grounded, refusing to let go. 

“Quite easily,” Martín whimpered in turn, his frigid fingers slowly moving their way to wrap around Andrés’ wrists. At first, he was certain he was going to move his hands away, push him away in the same shove Andrés had done to him. None of the blame here rested on the shoulders of his beautiful engineer. He was prepared to embrace every word of rejection, to be kicked and knocked down the way he deserved. 

Instead, Martín kept holding onto his wrists, as if they were a lifeline. Andrés was shocked at Martín’s strength, given how frail he looked. They stood there, time slowly beating around them. There were no words that could easily flow between the two of them. He wasn’t the type to plead, even if he was willing to do it. No matter how he had hurt Martín, it didn’t seem like a requirement. Nonetheless, there was no simply picking up where they had left off, pretending the damage had never been done. 

Martín’s head fell forward, weakly but managed to remain firm against Andrés’ forehead. He carefully moved one of his hands to pull Martín’s gently up to his lips, placing soft kisses on each one of his knuckles. As he started to twist Martín’s hand to hand to place a kiss on his veins, Martín shrunk and pulled his hands firmly against his chest. 

The movement wasn’t fast enough for Andrés to miss the scars etched against his soft skin. He pulled Martín’s hands back into his, clutching them close to his chest. “I’m sorry,” was all he could muster, but he felt the words continuing to fall out of his mouth as if he was a broken record. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Oh, Martín, I am so sorry.” 

He moved his arms to fully embrace him, Martín’s head resting under his chin. His left arm wrapped tightly around his waist, as his right hand held tightly to the back of Martín’s head. He was uncertain which of the two of them were causing their bodies to vibrate, as they were a phone receiving a call. His tears were restrained, though his body threatened to betray him. He couldn’t bring himself to allow the release he so desperately craved, as Martín erupted like a volcano. His fingers coiled in the material of Andrés’ warm jacket, grabbing at him as if this were a dream he would be ripped away from. 

It occurred to him Martín had probably lived this nightmare, over and over again since he had thrown him away. He had probably lived through every scenario in his head where Andrés had come back to him, only as a tease or taunt. He would wake up in the middle of the night, broken into these sobs as he realized there was no remedy for the pain. The scars were evident enough to confirm any theory he could think of. 

For, had he not been the same? Certainly, he was better at keeping the tears bottled up inside. He didn’t cry when he woke up from his nightmares. He had been unable to run from the pain, to fight the need for a reunion, and it had almost cost him his life in the Mint. He couldn’t imagine what the news might have done to Martín. This time, it was not his own vanity which he reflected upon, but the weight of truths he could no more deny than he could prolong his body oxygen. 

“You left, and I died,” Martín mumbled into his chest, as he furrowed his head deeper. “You _left_ , and I never told you. I never even told you I loved you.” 

“I never gave you the chance,” Andrés murmured, stroking his fingers through Martín’s hair. His fingers moved through every individual strand, trying his best to give him any sense of comfort he could. He held him tighter, stroking his hip with his thumb in small circles. “I didn’t want to give you the chance.” 

“You told me you loved me. And then you were gone.” His voice was full of resentment, as one of his fingers dug deep into the middle of Andrés’ chest. “You were just gone and I couldn’t pick up the pieces.” 

“You shouldn’t have had any pieces to pick up. I was a coward.” 

“Yes, you were.” 

“You are the love of my life.” He kissed the top of Martín’s head gently. “You are the love of my life,” he repeated, dragging his lips slowly along Martín’s hairline. The kisses were only soft touches, as if they would be strong enough to bind the pieces back together. It would take more than his empty words, echoing the same ones he had said so earnestly back at their old home, in their private quarters, to stitch anything back together. 

“Again,” Martín whimpered, his voice low and desperate. He pulled his head back from Andrés’ chest to look at him. With his head tilted, he still looked so small, someone that needed to be worshiped, adored, and tended to. Andrés was fully prepared to spend the rest of his days caving to each and every whim Martín could ever have, starting there and now. 

He kissed a trail from the middle of his forehead, one right after the other until he landed on the thick bulb of his nose. “You are the love of my life,” he whispered between each and every one. “And I will never let you go again,” he promised. He had never meant anything more, even if he was certain he shouldn’t be given the opportunity. 

The same sound radiated from Martín’s body that he had released so many months ago. His hands wrapped needingly around the collar of Andrés’ jacket, using it to pull his lips down onto his own. The saltiness of Martín’s tears still danced on his face, his despair still strong and manifesting once more in his need for Andrés’ touch. Who was he to deny him? His arms circled Martín’s waist, strong enough to hold them both. 

But as Martín’s tongue dipped far into Andrés’ mouth, he couldn’t help but pull away. His arms stayed tightly around him, as if to try and assure him this was something different ahn it had been before. It was his own desire to push these feelings away, to try and be something he shouldn’t because it wasn’t who he was anyway. This time, it mounted fully in his desire not to take advantage of the situation. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he needed Martín to know that. He needed him to understand the depth of his apology, the depths of his own sorrow which would never allow him to hurt Martín ever again. At least not intentionally, like when he had struck the match. 

“We don’t have to rush,” he whispered against Martín’s lips. “I’m not leaving you. I should have turned around before. I should’ve come back to you sooner.” He placed a chaste kiss against Martín’s check.

But Martín only held his face tighter in his hands, turning to chase Andrés’ lips back onto his. “I haven’t forgiven you, not yet,” he replied, his voice strong and sincere. 

The words were hesitant, but Andrés appreciated the honesty anyway. He didn’t deserve the immediate forgiveness. Their bond had been ripped away violently, and that was going to be no easy fix. It would require the utmost honesty to patch back together. But, Martín’s words ran with the promise things between them could be fixed. 

Andrés opened his mouth to speak, only to find Martín’s mouth firmly on his once more. He had given him the chance not to move forward with this that evening. He would not do his partner yet another insult by holding back whatever he wanted. It was not in his nature to be restrained, not when he was given permission. Their mouths moved, synced together. The kiss was more determined and wild than the ones they had shared before, though the placements of their hands were all too similar. 

How had he been so willing to release this? Every doubt and fear pulsating through his body melted away in Martín’s loving embrace. He was the one who provided shelter and stability for his younger brother, when he was still a child himself. He was the one who promised his gang he would get them out safely, to protect them no matter the personal cost to him. But here in Martín’s hold, adoring each other, he felt his only personal security. Martín was warm and kind, and he had been all too ready to throw that away because of his personal prejudices against himself. His mind was twisted to the reality and depth of his feelings. There was no missing percentage with Martín. This was his only desire, so freely his for the taking. 

He had been so blind for so long. He had been hurting them both for so long. There would be no fixing the mistakes he had carved in the past. Only opportunities to do better in the future, to make sure it never happened again. He peppered kisses softly down Martín’s neck, who only moaned in response. He began to walk Martín backwards into the small room that kept the uncomfortable bed in the middle, calling to them. He shoved the robe down his arms as they moved as one, Andrés landing gently on top of him. 

The sun crept through the thin sheet hanging up over the window. Two of Andrés’ fingers were lazily drawing patterns across Martín’s bare chest and arm as he laid propped up on his side facing him. They shared the single, long pillow, only inches away from each other. The beautiful blue had returned to Martín’s eyes, his face seeming to have deaged years since he had first arrived in the middle of the night. He rubbed their noses together gently, as Martín moved closer to rest his head on Andrés’ shoulder. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered again, the sincerity never shrinking from his words. “I love you, Martín.” 

This time, it was enough for Martín’s lips to tug upwards, in a thin grin. It was a far cry from the one that had haunted him while they were apart, but he was certain it would still take quite some time to get back where they were meant to be. Last night had only been the beginning of his penance, though he was certainly ready to do the same for however long it would take. 

Martín simply turned his head to kiss Andrés’ collarbone, holding tightly to him. “I love you too,” he mumbled. As Martín’s eyes began to flutter, Andrés moved his hand to gently stroke small circles on his temple. He could only imagine how much sleep he had cost him, and fully intended on making sure Martín’s most basic needs were his top priorities. Perhaps if he hadn’t fought this for so long, the protective feeling overpowering him wouldn’t be so strong. 

“Sleep,” he whispered back, securing him in his hold. Sleep would do them both some good, and they could figure out how to move forward when they woke. As he drifted, he swelled with gratitude for the second chance he knew he wasn’t good enough for, but couldn’t deny.

**Author's Note:**

> Song for this fic is My Thoughts on You by the Band CAMINO. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are immensely appreciated. 
> 
> And come chat on twitter, @viajeramyra. Keeping my timeline spoiler free for a few more days, but I'm available in DMs.


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